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collar. She looked a little like a senior officer on a particularly grim cruise boat.
    “A pleasure,” she murmured, then straightened her shoulders. “I’ve just been hearing all about the…ceremony from your husband here. I need to firm up the details about the rehearsal dinner before my husband gets here. I’m not sure where we should hold it. I guess this place would do.”
    That little pause before “ceremony” was the mark of a master, Pete decided. Mom wasn’t going to say anything openly critical about Texas and/or the wedding extravaganza, but somehow he knew she’d get her point in. She’d fired her opening salvo.
    “Hey, bro.” Cal’s voice sounded a little strained. “Did you try the dip? I think there’s some pita chips to go along with it. Lee’s one fantastic cook.”
    Mom raised an eyebrow. Pete knew that look. Amateurs. No way she was backing off yet. “I’ve never been to Texas before. I guess it’s always this hot in the summer.” She fanned her face with one hand. “But after all, the wedding will be inside, so the air conditioning will help.”
    “Yes, of course it will.” Reba glanced pointedly at Docia. “Sweetheart, did you talk to Janie yet about the arch?”
    Pete considered it a nice attempted lateral.
    “Iowa is hot in August too, of course. But it’s just lovely in June,” Mom continued, undeterred. “That’s when most of the weddings in our family have taken place, when it’s still cooler in the evening. Although some have been at Christmas. That’s lovely too. All the snow. I always say Christmas isn’t Christmas without snow. But I suppose you do without it here.”
    Oh, nice one, Mom. Points for trashing the Texas summer weather, the date of the wedding and the lack of snow. Pete glanced around the room. Janie Dupree stood next to a pillar-shaped guy who was inhaling a plate of cocktail shrimp. Pete raised an eyebrow at Docia. “Who’s that?”
    “Who’s that who?” Docia shook her head as if she was trying to clear it.
    Pete took a deep breath. Mom sometimes had that effect on people. “Janie’s date.”
    “Oh.” Docia pasted on a smile again. “Otto Friedrich. He’s the high school football coach. Janie said he was a star player when he went to school here.”
    Pete narrowed his eyes. The guy really did look like some kind of architectural feature—a solid column of muscle, his head balancing on his shoulders apparently without benefit of neck. Beside him Janie Dupree glanced up. Her gaze caught Pete’s.
    She was wearing an amazing dress, white with bright splashes of orange, cut low in front to show more of her bosom than he’d noticed before. Smallish but perfect. The white of the dress set off the slight olive color of her skin and her flashing dark eyes. If she’d started tangoing around the room, Pete wouldn’t have been a bit surprised.
    Unfortunately, Otto didn’t look like much of a tangoer.
    The corners of Janie’s mouth stretched up in a slight, mysterious smile, and Pete experienced the first rush of arousal he’d felt in longer than he liked to consider.
    One hell of a time for it to come back to life!
    “Peter.”
    His mother’s voice cut through the fog in his brain and he glanced back at her, trying not to look guilty. He had a sneaking suspicion she could see every unclean thought that had ever crossed his mind. “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Would you find me a drink, please?” She made it a question, but he knew there wasn’t anything questionable about it. In reality she was saying, Get your sorry ass in gear and take care of your mother.
    “Sure. What would you like? Looks like they’ve got some champagne over at the side there.” A couple of bottles rested in silver ice buckets on a marble bar against one wall.
    His mother frowned slightly. “Oh. I was thinking of a margarita.”
    “They don’t do margaritas here, Mom. This is strictly a wine bar. It’s good champagne, though.” Cal’s grin began to fade for one of